We walk with heroes
On paths of love for freedom.
Let us walk in peace.
Tag Archives: politics
NO KINGS DAY
The day begins with signs
Of all that any patriot finds
In need of expression
To resist oppression.
We line the streets
Feet deep
Only to meet
Aggression
From those who seek
Our suppression.
Gerrymandered districts
Are incomplete,
Unable to meet
Fair representation,
Denying the nation
one person one vote,
Intimidation afloat
In every state.
We pray it is not too late.
We pray our efforts matter.
We pray our mad-as-hatter
Administration
Stops destroying our beloved nation.
We sing. We dance. We shout.
This is what democracy is about.
No kings today.
No kings in any way.
No kings over courts’ justice.
No kings over any of us.
Every king eventually falls.
We do not want a king at all.
AMERICA DANCING TO MAGA-TIME
The ballerina pirouettes.
Round and round she goes.
Her satin slippers turn endlessly
as she balances on her toes.
Dizzying it would certainly be
to spin so unnecessarily.
But, she uses a trick she very well knows.
She picks a single point in sight
and holds her focus on that point, so tight.
She keeps her balance and dances on,
steady as the graceful dancer we all know.
And when the music ends
as every song must
she takes her bow and we all cheer.
America is well and still on her feet,
avoiding the fall we all feared.
America shall dance again
as soon as the new song begins.
Voters shall pick a tune they enjoy,
one that cares for every girl and boy,
for every color, race and creed,
for laborers and workers, rather than greed.
The Land of the free.The home of the brave.
The audience of those who refused to cave.
Ballerinas keep their eyes on the prize.
Focus and keep dancing: a word to the wise.
Keep dancing to your own true beat.
Stay focused and stay on your feet.
KEEP BREATHING
upon hearing results of 2016 election in USA.
Chains of cool air
strung like loose beads on thread
rattle unsteadily
within lungs too tight
to move out the breath
aching to leave
a heavy chest,
weighted down
by tears of regret.
In the first stage of grief
I am angry,
so angry,
my country is dead.
Who will grieve with me?
Those watching reality TV?
Those betting on games?
Those still seeking fame?
Those paralyzed by fear?
Those who only hold dear
their latest triumph over others?
Worn-out working single mothers?
Frustrated youth, anxiously hopeless?
Fired civil servants abandoned, feeling useless?
There are tears enough for us all.
But, too few who will cry out loud.
The screams must be released, you see,
that we may again breathe free.
Breathe out, damn lungs, despite the pain
Only then can we breathe freedom in again.
SMALL SPACES SMALL MINDS
The smaller the space in the head
or in geography, or in any cartography,
The less room for challenges and new ideas.
Facts have only so much space.
They must cling fast to last.
Those who limit themselves
to live inside bubbles
seldom recognize such troubles.
They are sure of everything
and wrong about nothing.
They have organized their small space
impeccably, intelligently, flawlessly.
So they must be as well.
They have neither time nor space to dwell
upon possible fallacy.
Only those outside the bubble can see
the absolute dangers of such insanity.
It is a new kind of mental illness
born in the stillness of active minds
revolving unchallenged by facts
that would make their theories unwind.
No such persons should be given power
over those who would see freedom flower
with a just and truthful effort, hour upon hour.
Those who live in openly-wide spaces,
who are woke to every possibility,
to every person and new discovery
are shut down and shut out
until autocracy has destroyed democracy.
CICADAS
Cicadas are singing an age-old announcement.
In six weeks the first frost will replace,
at least for some small time and space,
humid-heavy heated air
and gasps for breath
with a cool-crisp
galloping pronouncement
that Summer passes over to Autumn
all responsibility
to foster human civility.
It has been a tough time this summer.
Climate change disordered earth’s coasts
with rising oceans and in-land flows,
a drenched earth policy
to point out the fallacy
of carbon overload.
Fire’s rages grow stronger.
We cannot ignore any longer
the impact of humanity
which seems to clasp insanity
as an entitled mother-load
to wealth and power.
Greed has become
the man of the hour.
while most of us simply strive
to find someway to survive.
The earth belongs to all, not some.
With stately haste Winter comes.
We have little faith Winter will grace
the earth with a surcease of worry.
Worry mounts with each snow flurry.
Earth shall eventually find balance.
Hopefully, we shall earn similar allowance.
STORMY NIGHT
STORMY NIGHT
Scattered rain was predicted.
The evening news meteorologist
calmly warned of light rain.
Instead, a wild storm came
filling the night with thunder
and meaningless blunder
as lightening broke asunder
a peaceful, if not restful, sleep.
Too wild a storm to venture out in.
A storm to set us back and shut blinds
to keep from seeing or fearing ruin.
This storm rapidly blew in
while most of us slept.
At sunrise, when I rose, I looked outside,
finally, and see the truth.
It is not what I was told, nor surmised.
The yard is battered.
its inhabitants scattered in burrows;
the garden littered and furrowed
by limbs dragged and cuffed.
The flag hangs upside down
until it touches the ground
in sacrilege and shame.
The flag holder has been pulled loose,
its screws unscrewed, its anchor
pulled apart and left hanging in dark space
through a night of constant turmoil,
leaving my flag drenched and soiled.
In morning light I could finally see
the upending of democracy,
right on my front porch
where everyone could if they would
easily see. No neighbor reported
nor interceded to fix a flag so distorted.
But, false solar lights alone
across the yard ways shone,
too low-light to assess
a flag under duress.
In morning light, in my nightgown I alight
to pull my flag up and close.
I place it upright to stand tall,
allowing the tears soaking it to fall,
that it may slowly dry out with the sky;
held by a newly installed holder,
one stronger and bolder.
I promise you this: the flag, my flag,
will soon again fly safe and free.
As will all of our beloved country.
PUTINIZATION NATION
We now live in
Putin’s America.
Thanks to all of you
who voted
for Trump/Vance
and every republican
in every state house
in every political position.
I could not feel more derision
for you and what you do
every day you stay
silent,
unapologetic,
absolutely pathetic.
A country I thought you loved
more than you hated
women and people of color,
the disabled, war veterans,
children and the elderly,
homosexual and transgendered.
I underestimated your greed.
I underestimated your need
to make yourself
feel better than someone,
than anyone,
else.
I lost your pulse.
My bad!
And, I know you blame me,
and every liberal,
compassionate,
forward thinking
person you see.
So, you bend the knee
and deny democracy
its rightful place
in American History.
Our loss is Putin’s gain.
Your patriotism
has always been feigned.
Mine, yet remains.
My country may not.
HEAVEN ON EARTH
I have no knowledge of Heaven.
I have never been there,
except in dreams.
One thing I do know.
It must be a place where I
am surrounded by goodness,
fairness, compassion
and loving kindness
all of the time.
Heaven is the type of space
where hate has no place.
The sign in my yard
declares it to be so.
But, as we all know,
My selfish concerns sometimes show.
Creating a heaven on earth
may be an impossibility
because of my fragility
and lack of humility.
My human state has a dearth
of courageous purity.
Yet, still, I shall try to create
Heaven on Earth
as a constant state.
The lack of goodness surrounds me
all too often these cruelty-laden days.
Kindness is the only way to delay
the triumph of evil over good.
I ask all those in my neighborhood
to join my effort, feeble though it be.
Any small kindness is stronger than cruelty.
Filed under POETRY
THE DEEP SLEEP
Words fail to awaken on the page
when words fail.
Words dreamlike fight rage
in nightmarish schemes
when words fail.
Before Liberty shut her eyes,
and with despairing cries,
fell into freedom’s now-unsafe harbor
words gave us wings to fly
and above all troubles soar.
Now, words shut down
as they are shot down
as all around us words are bound
with hateful cruelty
demanding fealty
to lying thieves
upending beliefs
in a common humanity.
It is sheer insanity
and words fail to do it justice.
Lower courts words fall before SCOTUS’s lust
for false security, the only surety
that this is how nations fall into the dustbin of history.
Words are buried so deep
they too soon fall asleep
to escape the pain of obscurity.
That the people rise
is no surprise.
Whose words will act as guide
to peaceful resolution
and a safe conclusion
to those shoveling dirt into our eyes
and blinding us to truths that must not subside
into a deep sleep
to avoid seeing those who weep?
Who will speak now?
Is anyone still awake, still woke?
annarino writes 